


Lost in Time

by Doubting_Reality



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post Chapter One, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:37:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21396058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doubting_Reality/pseuds/Doubting_Reality
Summary: After the terrors of summer, Richie and Eddie now face something far more horrific: their feelings. Both in love with the other, neither brave enough to express it, shared moments become confusing, and once they leave  Derry, forgotten. Years later, they find their way back to each other, but the memories are so muddled from time and repression, the two struggle to keep straight what’s real and what’s fantasy.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 13





	1. These Thoughts of Mine

He couldn’t believe it. Here he was, again, in a locked stall in the school bathroom. It was disgusting, as always, but the thoughts racing through his head put his surroundings to shame, and maybe the truly disgusting thing here was him. Legs drawn up, knees to chest, he sniffles and stifled his sobs, silently wiping away the deluge of tears, hoping his eyes wouldn’t look too red; he’d hate for there to be any evidence of this. They’d all ask him “what’s wrong?” But he could never tell them, and their saccharine concern would only fill his heart with more self-loathing knowing they cared so much for someone so... disgusting.

There came a vicious bang on the stall door, and he squealed in terror, an audible gasp escaping him. Cruel laughter echoed in the bathroom, but the torment went no further as a familiar voice called for its cessation.

“C’mon, leave the poor kid alone.” 

“Why should I listen to you, fucking fairy?”

Still, the boy and his gang left, and he was still catching his breath. His feet hit the ground as he unfurled his limbs, seeking the space to breathe. 

“You ok?”

All Eddie could do was cough and choke out a weak “yea.” There was silence for a few moments before:

“Eds? That you?”

Damn it.

“Y-yea.” He hurriedly wiped his eyes clear again, knowing what was coming next. 

“Could you open up, Eds?” 

Reluctantly, he slid the latch on the door, allowing it to swing partially open. 

“What’re you doing in here? It smells worse than your mom...” 

The joke was halfhearted and trailed off at the end just as the smile from Richie’s face slid to a frown, much to Eddie’s dismay. As much as he’d hate to admit it, he far preferred Richie’s jokes than Richie’s concern for him. In an attempt to brush it off, Eddie forced out a laugh, but it was awkward and barking, nothing like his usual fits of giggles and suppressed chuckles.

“Hey, Eds, what’s going on?” Richie went to grab hold of Eddie’s shoulders, but Eddie recoiled. 

“Don’t, I’m...” he struggled to find the words, “I’m dirty.” 

At this, Richie laughed and again made to lay his hands on the shorter boy.

“What, because of the bathroom? Alright, Dr. Spaghetti, let’s get your hands washed.”

He tried to lead Eddie out, his fingers encircling his wrist, but again, Eddie drew back, practically snatching his hand from his best friend’s grasp.

“No, I,” he began, but the words wouldn’t come. He stood there, mouth agape, wondering how it always came to this. Why it’s always had to come to this.

Eddie took a deep breath, gathering the bravado to say what came next.

“I don’t need your help to wash my hands, Trash-mouth. I’m fine.”

He watched, but didn’t notice the smile falter on Richie’s face or the slight shine in Richie’s eyes.

“Ok Eds, no need to yell,” he laughed, “after you,” he said, bowing out of Eddie’s way.

He pointedly avoided meeting his own reflection in the mirror, afraid of what would be staring back. The water slowly grew scalding, and he scrubbed his hands with such fervor, the skin was raw and red. Only once, he glanced in the mirror, and he saw Richie staring at his hands in the sink, lips parted slightly, corners turned downward as he watched his friend in apprehension. He was clearly concerned but said nothing, and the two left the bathroom in silence. 

***


	2. In the Woods Somewhere

He didn’t want to believe it as he swung gently in the hammock. The way he’d looked at him, the way he’d spoken to him, it didn’t seem real, but clearly, it was. The sides of his comic book crinkled in his grip, his knuckles white and his hands shaking. He was the only one in the club house, entirely alone. He wondered whether they knew he was here, or if they cared. The fears began to churn his stomach, that one day they’d know he deserved to be alone, forgotten. This was how life would always end for him, no matter how he spun it. He never learned to keep his mouth shut, so of course, how could he ever be anything but utterly... alone?

In the silence of the club house, the words echo in the whistle of the wind above him. 

I don’t need your help. 

It wasn’t the content so much as his tone of deliverance, so angry, so...  disgusted at the thought of his touch. Somewhere he could’ve sworn he heard a whisper, quiet and broken.

Don’t touch the other boys, Richie.

Closing his comic, he rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He tried so hard, but here came the tears, falling, falling, no one strong enough to stop their cascading rampage. Richie tossed the comic and his glasses to the ground as he twisted and turned in the hammock. Laying on his side, his face now pressed against the stiff fabric, he allowed his bony frame to be racked with wretched sobs; his wailing, so impassioned and tortuous, could’ve broken even the hardest and emptiest of hearts had there been anyone around to hear, but of course, there wasn’t. Richie was alone. At least, he thought he was.

“Richie?” 

The voice was small, shaken, as if he’d seen something we wished he could forget. The small boy, with his smooth hair and pale legs, nervously looked on as Richie bolted upright in the hammock. 

“Oh, h-hey Eds! Didn’t think anyone would be out here tonight.”

Eddie took a few steps toward him, and Richie moved away from him, forgetting he was in a hammock, and subsequently tumbled face first into the dirt below him. He stood, laughed, and brushed the dirt away.

“Sorry about earlier, Eds. Those guys are assholes.” He was trying to be cheerful, make his friend laugh, but Eddie had seen, and if he hadn’t seen, he’d heard. 

“What’s wrong, Rich?”

“Why would you think something was wrong?” 

He laughed and wiped his nose, aware that either tears or snot were streaming down his face. Both would be equally salty, but Richie suspected the viscous nature of the fluid suggested it was, unfortunately, the latter. 

“Come on, Rich, you can tell me.”

Eddie took another step closer, and lightly rested his hand on Richie’s shoulder, sending a shudder through his body. Richie shook him off and shuffled backward until realizing his back was against the wall of the club house. At this, he hung his head, biting his cheek, slightly nodding his head in anxious resignation. The tears were hot, and Richie’s glasses still lay abandoned on the ground. In a haze, he hiccuped a laugh and looked up, sucking in a deep breath as he did so.

“Eddie, I...” he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth,“I love...”

He looked Eddie in the eye, but he didn’t notice how they glistened, a slight rise in the short boy’s lips and a blush daintily painting his cheeks pink.

“You...your mom!” Richie guffawed and snorted, trying entirely too hard to prove that his joke was funny and not a poor excuse to act like  complete chicken shit again. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he saw a blurry Eddie with ghosts in his eyes, his smile cracking. 

“Whatever, Rich.” 

And with that, Eddie was gone, and Richie was alone again, all alone. He walked slowly to where he’d dropped his glasses and comic, bent down, cleaned them, and replaced them on his face. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, face upturned toward the sky. 

Good job, Rich.

He turned off the lights and climbed out the of club house, and while he can’t be sure, he could’ve sworn somewhere in the woods, something was crying.

***


	3. A Lamp, the Rain, and Footsteps

It was dumb and cheesy, and he knew it, but something about the rain and the way the streetlights were glowing drew him out. He stood now in front of Richie’s house, soaking wet and freezing cold. The rain penetrated his thin t-shirt and athletic shorts, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Still, the pouring, relentless raindrops imbued him with some intangible longing as well as an indescribable sense of...perhaps not bravery, but it’s neighbor that it sees every morning getting the paper. 

He was staring at Richie’s window, watching the dim light of his lamp and wishing both that Richie would notice him standing out here and that some sense would find its way into Eddie’s head and he’d turn around and go home before being seen.

Rain beat down in fat drops, and Eddie stood rooted to the spot, a statue, a phantom. 

“Stupid, stupid, I’m...” he huffed, “I’m  so  stupid.” 

He blinked, and it was like the spell was broken, and he was cold, and wet, and alone. He turned, aching to shower and wash the outside world off of himself.

“Eddie?”

The call was faint, heard just barely over the din of the maelstrom surrounding him, but it was real. He faced the house once again, and Richie’s window was open; he leaned out and adjusted his glasses.

“Eds, get in here!”

And Eddie went running, far away from Richie’s house.

***

The rain had started on his walk home.

How atmospheric.

He entered his house, chilled to the bone and starving. After dinner, some leftover roast chicken and canned peas, Richie made his way to the bathroom for a shower. He’d stood, numb, under the fall of the hale-like water, determined not to think of his recent interaction with Eddie. 

After the unsatisfactory shower, Richie went into his bedroom and sat on his bed, emptier than usual. He turned on his bedside lamp and tried to read his comic book, but he couldn’t focus. Instead, he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could sink into the mattress and never return. His limbs were heavy despite the hollowness of his heart. Richie sat up again and glanced out his window only to see a disturbing sight. Someone was standing on the street under the lamp  staring at his house. He opened the window, careful not to make too much noise. In moments, he was at ease. He’d recognize those short shorts anywhere. 

“Eddie?”

The boy on the street turned around, and even from his window Richie could see his clothes were soaked through.

He’s gonna get sick out there.

“Eds, get in here!”

He took off running after that. Richie’s breathing was heavy, and his eyes burned, but he blinked away his tears. He slammed the sash down, not caring how loud it was, and hurried his face in his pillows to smother his sobs. 

Stupid, stupid...I’m so stupid.

He never could keep his mouth shut or be serious, but come on! Maybe everyone was right: he really did deserve to be alone. 

***


	4. Heavy Hangs the Head

The comforter seemed heavier than normal, almost suffocating, as Eddie lay awake late into the night.

Why did I run?

The rain had stopped around one o’clock, and it was swiftly approaching three. Eddie’s mom had, of course, thrown a fit when he showed up soaked to the bone. Her words, however, slid off him. He was too concerned with the damage he’d just done. 

“I’ve ruined everything.”

The whisper was barely audible, only noticeable as a slight vibration and a slight breeze against his hands. He’d cried quietly for a while, but now there was nothing left to give but dry sobs wrenching his body. He yearned for sleep, yet now even the soothing patter of rain was gone, and there was a knock on his window. 

He froze, terrified of what he’d see if he turned over. Would it be Richie? Or maybe.... And which was worse? He took a deep breath and faced the window. 

There he was, his forehead pressed against the window pane and a deep-set frown which made Eddie feel as though someone were squeezing his heart. He opened the window, and Richie crawled slowly crawled into his bedroom. The pair sat on the bed in tentative silence. 

“I’m...” Eddie began, but he didn’t know what to say, so the quiet persisted, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, Eddie felt a warmth alight his hand which in turn rested on his thigh.

A slight gasp escaped his parted lips. 

“I’m sorry,” Rich whispered, but it wasn’t an apology for what he did earlier, but for what he did next. He took Eddie’s face in his hand, and firmly, yet tenderly, Richie presses his lips to Eddie’s. It lasted only a second, and he drew back, releasing the smaller boy from his torrid embrace. 

Dazed, it took Eddie a moment to process what had just occurred, and in that moment, Richie had managed to crawl halfway out of the window. He shook his head to clear his mind and grabbed Richie by the waist, and as he pulled him back into the room, he whispered: 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And pulled him into another, deeper kiss, filled with every moment he’d looked at the black haired boy and wished for this so hard it hurt. His hands squeezed Richie’s waist in agony and desperation.

“Hey, not so hard Eds.”

Richie extricated himself from the kiss and laughed a bit before a slight frown darkened his features. He seemed hesitant, but all Eddie wanted was to take advantage of the chance he’d been given before it faded into a dream. Somehow, Richie wasn’t disgusted by him; in fact, he’d kissed him first! Still, Richie showed a certain reluctance, and Eddie set aside his fantasies to address Richie’s concern. 

“Are you sure?”

The weakness of his voice crushed him. 

“Aren’t you?”

The slight warble of tears surprised Eddie, and he swallowed in attempt to hold back the mounting sorrow; his throat burned with the effort. In seconds, Richie’s hand cradled his head, the base of his palm pressed against the nape of his neck, and his fingers buried in Eddie’s hair. Immediately, Eddie responded in kind, trailing his digits through Richie’s dark curls and slowly drawing the two of them closer before realizing his knees were on either side of Richie’s hips, straddling the taller boy. Richie’s long arms had wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to his body. It was then that Eddie noticed his own arms draped delicately on Richie’s shoulders, hanging almost daintily around his neck; he could barely feel them, the adrenaline coursing and careening through his veins resulted in a numbing of the extremities. 

The taller boy tilted his head back and away, breaking the kiss but not their embrace. At first he seemed dazed, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, but his face was soon darkened with sickening realization.

“What do we do now?”

Eddie hadn’t thought of that. He never saw the need to think of that. Until moments ago,  that was a far fetched fantasy he was content to play over and over in his mind. Now, the question buzzed and beleaguered.  What comes next?  He was always calculating, always discerning what the  safe choice was, but now he’d made a dangerous one: a monumentally perilous choice which could had the power to upset the carefully calculated dance they’d evidently entered, yet for once in his life, he didn’t care. 

“You stay. That’s what we do now. You stay here.”

And he did.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be updated weekly. Should some unknown inhibitors arise, I will alert any readers in the end note. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


End file.
